Black Heart

by R. L. Mathewson

  “I said no, because I’m not going. I’m done. He’s wrecking our lives. We can’t go anywhere with him! We’re stuck in our house when we’re not busting our asses off to pay all the medical bills he makes for us. For Christ’s sake, this is the first time we’ve came to your mother’s house in three years! I’m sick of this. He needs more help than we can give him. He needs to be in a psychiatric hospital! The doctors have been telling us that for three years now. You won’t do it, because you think it will make you a bad mother and right now I don’t fucking care! He needs help!”

  “I don’t need this right now!” she screamed at him, almost pleading with him to just do it, to free them from this nightmare that Tristan brought into their lives.

  Sighing heavily, Shaun got to his feet and went to her. “I’ll go this one last time, but only to make sure that he gets the help he needs and then I’m done. I can’t be his father anymore.”

  Julie bit her lip as she looked away, hating herself for wanting nothing more than to walk away from Tristan and pretend that he’d never existed. Shaun was right. Something was wrong with Tristan, had always been wrong with him. She didn’t want to admit that her six-year-old son was disturbed, but maybe now she didn’t have a choice.

  “Ma’am, we need to go!” one of the EMTs yelled.

  Shaun cupped her chin and raised her gaze to his. He brushed her blonde hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. She couldn’t say anything to him. She just wanted to wrap her arms around him and pretend that only the two of them existed.

  “Julie, he’s coming to!” her mother yelled, destroying all her hopes that she could forget this was happening.

  Nodding, she stepped away from Shaun and slowly made her way back downstairs.

  *-*-*-*

  “Alright, on my count, one…two…three,” Tom counted off for his partner as they picked up the backboard holding the little boy. Without a word, they carried the child out of the house.

  Tom watched as the little boy slowly opened his eyes. When he looked around, Tom assumed that the little boy was looking for his mother. As soon as the little boy’s gaze landed on the house, the violent tremors began.

  “Whoa! Tom, hold up I think the kid is seizing,” Jeff said. In a well-practiced move, they placed the backboard on the ground and re-checked the little boy’s vitals.

  “He’s having another panic attack,” the boy’s mother said flatly, sounding exhausted as she stood by them, making no moves to comfort the boy as he started to scream.

  Tom looked at his partner and then back at the boy’s mother, pissed that she wasn’t helping. The kid needed his mother and she was just standing there, looking like she didn’t care. “Ma’am, it’s kind of chilly out here. Why don’t you wait in the ambulance and stay warm?”

  With a slight nod, she walked over to the ambulance and climbed in the back. Shaking his head in disgust, Tom finished looking the little boy over, making sure that they hadn’t missed anything.

  When he was done, he nodded towards the boy and without a word they picked up the backboard and headed towards the ambulance. They found his mother sitting on the tech bench. When they strapped the backboard to the stretcher, she finally looked at her son. She gave the boy what looked like a forced smile.

  Tom watched as the little boy looked up at his mother and started to return her forced smile when an expression of pure terror spread over his face. In seconds, he was screaming, his eyes were squeezed shut, and he was tearing at the safety restraints that secured him to the board. He was just about free when Tom managed to grab a hold of him and restrain him on the board. “Jeff, get back here now!”

  Tom tried to hold Tristan’s arms down, but he could barely manage it. He was shocked at how strong this six year old kid was. In matter of seconds, the little boy broke free and lunged for the door. Tom managed to grab the kid before he could jump out of the truck. He had the kid back on the board when the kid took him by surprise and kicked him in the groin.

  “Get the kid!” Tom yelled when Jeff opened the back doors, in too much pain to move, never mind wrestle with the kid again.

  Jeff barely managed to catch the kid when he jumped out of the ambulance. The boy was like a rabid animal, kicking and swinging his fists as he struggled to get free.

  “Tom, grab the restraints and call the police! I can’t handle this kid!”

  Still huddled on the floor of the ambulance, Tom struggled to stand up and when that didn’t work, he crawled to the front of the ambulance. He grabbed the portable radio. “Echo 14 in need of police assistance on scene. I repeat, echo 14 in need of police assistance.” Still gasping for air, he lowered the microphone and waited for a response.

  “Echo 14, sending police assistance to 13 Derry Road. Is that correct?” dispatch returned.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Police are on their way, echo 14. Fire rescue is on its way as well.”

  “I need a hand!” Jeff yelled.

  Tom stood up and almost immediately doubled over from pain. He steadied himself by holding onto the back of the seat and shutting his eyes when the pain surged throughout his body and threatened to knock him back on his ass. After a minute the pain lessened and he was able to open his eyes. He quickly found his partner still wrestling with the kid at the back doors. Blood was trickling from Jeff’s nose and the kid was hanging from the back of the ambulance while Jeff held onto his legs. The only thing that he couldn’t see was the woman.

  “Ma’am?” he said.

  Nothing.

  Muttering a few choice words, Tom climbed over the passenger seat and jumped out of the ambulance. He made his way to the backdoors in time to grab the little boy just as he was about to kick Jeff in the face.

  “Gotcha!” Tom said. He pulled the kid away from the ambulance, ready for anything.

  Halfway to the ground, he noticed something odd. The kid wasn’t fighting anymore. Thinking that it was a trick, he quickly pinned the kid’s arms against his body and held him on the ground. After a minute, the boy’s breathing became more relaxed. He watched as the boy opened his eyes and looked around, seeming to avoid the direction of the ambulance and house at all costs.

  What the hell?

  “I’m sorry that I hurt you,” the little boy suddenly said, sounding close to tears.

  He looked down at the now upturned face of the little boy that he was holding. Looking into the kid’s bright green eyes he sensed overwhelming sadness, too much sadness for a kid this young. He felt lost looking into those eyes. All he could think about was the time that his son had broken his arm falling out of a tree and how much pain Denny had been in.

  Having a good idea what the kid needed, he turned the boy around in his arms and hugged him as he stood up. The kid hugged him back and began to cry, his small body trembling as he held on tightly to him. Tom gently rubbed the boy’s back, trying to soothe him.

  “It’s okay, buddy.” Tom repeated while walking away from the ambulance and headed for the road. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  *-*-*-*

  Julie watched as the paramedic comforted her son. It was odd, she knew that she should be running over there and taking Tristan into her arms and comforting him, but she couldn’t seem to force herself to do it. She felt a sense of peace from knowing that her son was being cared for and at the same time not having to be the one to do it. With a sense of relief, she turned around and walked into the house. Shaun greeted her at the door with a look of understanding. They didn’t need to say anything. They walked in the house and closed the door behind them.

  They were done.

  Chapter 1

  23 Years Later………

  “Tristan, is there anything that you’d like to discuss today?” Dr. Bryne asked, the words leaving his mouth with very little effort or thought, thanks to twenty years of practice. He settled back in his favorite faux brown leather chair and looked through the thick personnel file on his lap that he technically wasn’t supposed to ha
ve access to, but given the patient that he was dealing with, it had been agreed that a few rules needed to be broken.

  After a moment of silence, he looked up from his notes to find the patient he’d been dying to get on his couch for years, lying on the couch across from him reading a book, obviously set on ignoring him once again. At least this time Tristan wasn’t just sitting there glaring at him. Even Dr. Bryne had to admit that had been a little unnerving, especially the way Tristan just sat there never saying a word or moving a muscle as he glared at him for the entire hour. Not that Dr. Bryne would ever admit this, but that one session had almost scared him off this case.

  Almost.

  “Tristan, this is your third appointment in the last week and a half and you have yet to participate in a conversation. I think it would be beneficial for you to talk about something that's bothering you,” he said, not really expecting much of a response as he returned his attention back to the thick file resting on his lap, not because he was afraid of another glaring match. He wasn’t, he decided, thankful that the file was so thick that it would probably take him the entire session to read through it, again, and give him a reason to focus on anything other than his patient.

  “Can it be anything?” Tristan suddenly asked, surprising him. He hadn’t actually expected Tristan to say anything. Perhaps he was finally about to make some real progress with this stubborn patient. At least, he hoped that was the case.

  For years, he’d been dying for a chance to get inside Tristan’s head. He hoped to help Tristan open up, get in touch with his feelings, and learn to express himself in a calm, productive manner. At the very least, he hoped to help Tristan to stop being such an asshole.

  Tristan slowly replaced his bookmark and sat up as he considered the doctor. He opened his mouth and abruptly closed it. He shook his head slightly before he looked around the room, his gaze pausing on the large bay window behind the desk and then on the door that led to the waiting room.

  The only two exits from the room.

  “Now, you’re serious about anything that's bothering me?” Tristan asked, shooting another glance towards the door.

  “Yes, of course. Please feel free to talk about anything that’s bothering you,” Dr. Bryne replied, feeling almost giddy at the prospect of finally getting this patient to open up about something, anything. He’d been dying to discover what made Tristan tick since the moment Tom had introduced him to his adopted son, his very pissed-off adopted son. Dr. Bryne knew without a doubt, that given a chance, he could fix Tristan. Now it looked like he was about to get it.

  “I don’t even know where to start," Tristan said, rubbing his hands roughly down his face. “This is pretty serious, Dr. Bryne. I need to know that I have your complete confidence here, because what I have to say is pretty disturbing,” he explained before adding in a harsh whisper, “maybe too disturbing.”

  This had to be the breakthrough that he’d been waiting for. It was a start at least, he decided as he slowly moved to the edge of his seat, placing the file on the table so that he could give Tristan his full attention.

  “What would you like to talk about, Tristan?” Dr. Bryne asked in what he hoped was an encouraging tone and not one that betrayed his excitement.

  Tristan looked down at his hands and, after a slight pause, shook his head. A moment later he looked up at the doctor, appearing stressed as he ran his hand through his carefully styled, short blonde hair, messing it up and making it look a little wild. “Doctor, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Go on,” he said quickly, yet encouragingly, not wanting Tristan to stop, not now, not after waiting all these years for this moment.

  “I keep getting these uncontrollable urges to do bad things, but you have to understand that it’s not my fault. It’s the bunnies. They’re telling me to do them,” he whispered hoarsely, shooting nervous glances around the room as he spoke.

  “Bunnies?” Dr. Bryne repeated slowly, sure that he'd misheard Tristan.

  “Yes, pink bunnies.”

  “Pink bunnies?”

  “They just keep telling me to do these awful things,” Tristan whispered softly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

  “Tristan, what types of things have they told you to do? Has anyone been hurt?” Dr. Bryne asked, suddenly nervous and for good reason.

  “I wish I could tell you no, but yes, people have been hurt. It’s really bad,” Tristan said, sounding a little panicked.

  Dr. Bryne didn’t say a word as he sat there, shocked and admittedly more than a little frightened. Almost too afraid to find out what Tristan was about to reveal.

  “Dr. Bryne, there have been beatings, vandalisms, and of course I can’t forget about the sacrifices. Pink bunnies require a lot of human sacrifices.”

  Dr. Bryne slowly sat back in his chair as his head started to spin. He was frightened, more like terrified. Never in his twenty years of experience had he ever dealt with anything like this before.

  “Dr. Bryne, they beat me,” Tristan confessed in a harsh whisper.

  “Beat you?” he asked, his voice cracking as panic took over. He wasn’t ready for a patient like this. He should have listened to his wife when he’d had the chance and refused this case.

  “The bunnies. They beat me silly when I don’t do what they want. They slap me around like a red headed stepchild. The spankings are awful. They leave little bunny paw prints all over my ass!” Tristan’s cold gaze locked on him as he explained, “Dr. Bryne, the reason I'm telling you this is because they want me to do something really bad right now and I thought that it was only right to warn you.”

  Terrified, he ran his eyes ran over Tristan’s large frame. The man was huge, covered in solid muscle and unfortunately for him, a highly trained police officer. There was no way that he would be able to fight him off. Not to mention that he was pretty sure the man was currently armed. He slowly stood up and walked to his desk, careful to appear relaxed as he sat down. He needed to keep Tristan engaged until he could get help.

  “What are they telling you to do?” he asked, feigning disinterest as he shot a discreet glance towards the door, calculating his chances of making it to the door before Tristan could stop him.

  He had to admit that his chances weren’t very good.

  Tristan stood up and walked over to the desk with a predatory gait. For a moment, Tristan simply stood in front of the desk as he stared down at the doctor, further unnerving him. “Doctor, it’s really bad. I'm afraid that……,” he trailed off hesitantly.

  Dr. Bryne reached under his desk, slowly, and started to hit the panic button, repeatedly, hoping the damn thing actually worked. “Yes, Tristan?” he asked, his voice cracking as his body trembled.

  “Dr. Bryne,” he said, becoming more serious with every passing second, “they’re telling me that I have to take a leak and to tell you that I don’t need therapy.”

  Sensations of shock and relief spread throughout his body as his heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst free as Tristan’s words slowly sank in. He took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm down from the biggest scare of his life, but it was difficult knowing exactly what the man in front of him was capable of doing.

  “When I get back in a few minutes I’ll tell you what the clothes in my closet tell me to do late at night,” Tristan said dryly as he headed for the door.

  Mildred, his secretary of ten years, came running in with a cell phone clutched tightly in her hand just as Tristan opened the door. When she spotted Tristan, she jumped back, hugging the phone tightly against her chest as she made sure to stay out of his path, making Tristan chuckle.

  “Do you need anything, Doctor?” she asked hesitantly, shooting nervous glances at Tristan as he walked past her.

  “Nothing, Mildred,…..wait, maybe some cold drinks,” Dr. Bryne mumbled absently as he wiped sweat off his face with a handkerchief, wondering if it was too early to retire.

  *-*-*-*

  When Tristan returned to the ro
om a few minutes later, he noted that the doctor appeared to be more composed and ready to continue with the department-ordered bullshit that he would eventually find a way out of. He always did and this time would be no different. He’d have the good doctor signing him off to return to active duty soon enough. For now he was going to have to settle for screwing with the man’s head for his own entertainment.

  Well, it had been entertaining while it lasted, he thought dryly as he dropped his weight back on the lumpy couch. If the man hadn’t been an old friend of his father’s, he would have already screwed him over and ended this bullshit his way a week ago.

  “Tristan, that wasn’t funny.”

  “I’m afraid it was, Doc.” Tristan sighed, wondering why he hadn’t just left when he’d had the chance.

  “Fine, I see that you're still being stubborn, so I’ll pick the topic for our session,” Dr. Bryne said, sounding put out.

  “Pick away, Doc,” Tristan said as he lay back down on the couch. This time he didn’t bother to pick up his book.

  “Do you want to talk about the fire or the shooting?”

  Tristan gave him a bored look. “Doc, I understand that while I’m out on medical leave that I’m required to meet with you twice a week so I’ll indulge you in this,” he said, not bothering to mention that Hank promised to keep his ass on medical leave permanently if he didn’t answer questions about the shooting.

  “Okay…,” Dr. Bryne said encouragingly.

  “I chased a known child molester into a house. I found two missing boys tied to a radiator. I shot the prick and earned a bullet in my shoulder when I jumped in front of one of the boys. I killed the bastard and then his accomplice set the house on fire. We got trapped upstairs where my brother found us and led us to safety,” Tristan explained in a bored tone, as he sat back up, trying to get more comfortable, but it was impossible with his shoulder throbbing. “And before you ask, yes, my brother brings it up every chance he gets and no, he won’t let me live it down.”